If This is Love
by remy7marie
Summary: Rogan. They broke up postPartings, and they cross paths in a complicated way, and while it's meant to be casual, holds more strings than either of them thought.
1. Your Hands Made Sure I Stayed Intact

He watched her slide her black silk, floor length dress up her body, pulling the straps over her shoulders, reaching behind her to zip it up. She stood at the foot of the bed while he lay in the sheets, propped up on two pillows, watching her.

"Don't look at me like that, Logan," she snapped.

"I'm not looking at you _like that_, whatever like that is," he retorted.

"Well, whatever it is, stop." She tilted her head to put back in her diamond earrings which were sitting on top of the TV of the hotel room, and he simply watched her.

She had an elegant way of changing herself from a lover back into an icy business woman, something he found captivating. Her years in New York and her experiences had hardened her, making her numb to feelings and even more stubborn.

He found he missed the way she was in college, but found this new Rory enchanting and a mystery, two things he still loved about her.

She flipped her brunette locks over her shoulders and moved to grab her shoes from the spot she had wiggled out of them an hour and a half before. He took the time to remember how their paths had even crossed again.

He hadn't seen her since the elevator door closed at their apartment in New Haven. He left for London, ended up spending three years there. She believed, by what Honor had told her during lunch one afternoon that Logan was cheating on her. She ended the relationship in a bitter message, left to taunt him on his answering machine.

She graduated, with honors, naturally. It was amazing what she could do when she was trying to get over an ex. She didn't go out, didn't enjoy her senior year. Right after graduation, or so he heard, she went straight to New York and was hired as an editor of a small magazine right off the bat. Not what she wanted, but good enough. She also made sure it was in no way affiliated with Huntzberger Media.

They had run into each other, literally, at some convention, to this day he doesn't even remember what it was for. The next thing he knew, she was laying beside him in his dark penthouse master suite, wearing only his 500 thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets.

And this is how they were. They didn't go out, they didn't meet, hell, they didn't even contact each other, ever. They only met at these functions, sneaking into bathrooms or closets, or they checks into a hotel room for a few hours only to go back down to the party, and she returns to the room with him again later.

They had been going at this for a few months now, not seeing it going anywhere. They didn't discuss the past, what had happened. It was a rule. Tonight was no different.

Tonight was the annual Media Gala, where editors and big-time reporters from all over New York City meet at a designated spot, this time, a high-class hotel, to receive awards, or in other words, brag.

He had seen her almost float into the hotel ballroom, a vintage black silk dress, flowing past her feet and trailing slightly behind her. A curved, almost v-neck, an empire waist, and thick straps that left her whole back bare and fell to a V at the small of her back.

He had lost all conscious thoughts then and there.

He was torn from his thoughts when her foot dropped back to the floor from where it was propped on the bed to adjust the strap of her heel.

"We should be getting back down there."

"It's almost over; it's nearly eleven. Just stay here."

"I need to get home."

"Why? Your apartment needs dusting after never being there? I personally don't think it'll make a difference."

"Go to hell." He got out of the bed and pulled on his boxers, walking to where she was standing.

"You really want to leave?"

"Yes," she said, her voice wavering.

"Why?" His lips moved to her neck, trailing to her collar bone in light kisses, barely brushing her skin. Her neck automatically tilted to give him more access, more skin to tease. She pressed her open palms flat on the wall behind her for support, and struggled for response.

"I left a date down there," she lied. He pulled back, his eyes darkened. With anger? She couldn't help but wonder.

"Well, you should get back." He moved to find his tuxedo slacks, pulling them on quickly.

"No." He chuckled and shook his head.

"I don't have time for your games tonight, Ace."

"Don't call me that."

"Bad memories?" he taunted.

"I don't know. How about I leave a message on your answering machine and get your thoughts on that?"

Before she knew it, he had her pressed against the wall, his shirt only half buttoned. He was mad, she was mad. They would kill each other, the other was sure of it.

He pressed his lips to hers forcefully and she rested her hands on his shoulders. He reached behind her and unzipped her dress, sliding it down her body, moving down with it so he stopped to slide her feet out of her shoes. "I just put that on," she whined when he took off her dress.

He kissed his way up her body, lingering on her stomach and between her breasts. "You don't care."

"I do care," she said, her fingers struggling with the buttons before she gave up and he lifted his arms and she pulled it up over his head, her arms coming to rest on his chest. She moved her mouth to follow her hands, trailing shapes around his chest muscles, down his abs. "It's you that doesn't care," she murmured against his bellybutton.

"Well, that too." He turned her around and backed her up to the bed, not caring if she tripped over her own shoe, which she did. He simply picked her up honeymoon style and laid her down roughly before moving atop her.

Downstairs, they were competitors in the media business, ex-lovers from college, both equally unhappy with their lives.

In this strange, unfamiliar hotel bed, they were still lovers, disregarding the past, not caring about their business, fervently trying to make their lives happy for just a night, if the other would let them.


	2. Wake Up, It's No Use Pretending

**A/N:** sorry for the wait on this one. i wasnt sure what i wanted to do. but...yeah. this chapter...it goes into their past relationship a little. a little soon, i know, but it just came out this way. let me know what you think. enjoy and review.

chapter title from "naked as we came" by iron and wine.

chapter two

She lifted up his hand slowly, examining it carefully, memorizing it and at the same time, scared she would miss something. A wedding ring, perhaps, that would make this whole setup tumble to the ground within a second's time.

Her own was small in comparison. Pale against his dark skin. Twining their fingers together, she stared at the contrast. He watched her in curiosity. "Are you almost done?" he asked jokingly. "My arm is starting to hurt."

She rolled his eyes at his statement, dropping their hands, but keeping them locked together. "Men are such babies."

"And I'm assuming that your arm was fine? Miss I-don't-exercise-because-its-bad-for-me Gilmore?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, "It's true! I always end up worse off than before I started."

"How about yoga? You don't even move for that."

"Au contraire, my friend. I'm not flexible enough for that."

He laughed, "That is where I disagree."

She blushed at his innuendo, smacking his chest with a loud thud, "Pig."

He had brought her to the bed after their argument, they hadn't moved since. It was strange, her still being here and not making an attempt to leave. Holding hands, which was much, much more intimate than they had been in such a long time, he had almost forgotten it.

She held her breath, not moving next to him. Two years ago, if someone would have told her that she would be here, she would have laughed in their face, and then promptly stepped on their foot for making her drag up such horrible memories.

But here she was, laying next to him. The curtains were open to let the summer breeze in, moonlight the only source of light in the room. She had the sheet wrapped around her, tucked under her arms as she lay there.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked.

"Can I stop you?" he responded, playing with her hair.

She pulled his hand from her hair and held it again, "Why aren't you married?"

He laughed, "I'm only twenty-five, Rory. Besides, when did we start talking about this stuff?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. I was just wondering."

He looked down at her from where he was propped up on his elbow. "Why aren't you married?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "Why should I be? I mean, look at my parents. They're unhappy in their rash marriage; my grandparents are always planning those stupid DAR and business meetings. Is that what my life would be like? If so, I don't want it."

She let out a breath. She had done nothing but spoken the truth, which is something she hadn't done in a long time. Not so much the honestly, but actually voicing it aloud. It was easier to be alone if nothing was wrong with you.

He brushed her bangs aside. "You wouldn't be like that, and you know it. Even when we were going out, you had all these plans and they didn't change once you met me."

She tensed at his words, the bringing up of dead and buried bones. "Don't bring that up."

"But you can bring up marriage and all this crap, but I can't talk about something you think might have happened. You had no verification of what Honor told you happened."

"Your reputation proceeded you, Logan."

"It didn't seem to bother you so much when I took you to Martha's Vineyard, or took you to New York for the weekend."

She slid off the bed, "You smug bastard. You think I was with you for your money?" She laughed bitterly. "I'm a Gilmore, and a Hayden! I don't need anything from you. We must have been out of our minds."

"No, you! You were out of your mind! You believed a girl who grew up in a society where it was nightly entertainment to pull shit like that!"

"Oh, so this is my fault? Don't you dare, Logan Huntzberger." Her voice was quiet, firm, and angry.

He sighed, stepping back from where he had moved directly in front of her.

Her voice was quiet when she talked next, "Maybe it was just us. Maybe I wanted to believe the first lie told to me because I was…I don't know," she searched for the word, "scared?"

"Scared of what?"

"You were in London, Logan. God knows what you could have done over there. I wasn't…pretty enough, or smart enough, or God, I don't know. I was scared you would be able to so easily replace me. I guess I wasn't wrong, after all."

"You're insane. And thank you so much for voicing these opinions before I left for London, Rory. They were really appreciated," he bit sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her dress from the armchair by the window. "And even now," he said, continuing, "You're leaving, running away. Can't say I'm surprised."

"What did you expect? We aren't together anymore, Logan. That just kills you, doesn't it? Yeah, I'm sure. You got the little princess, nailed her, and now you're done. Don't be so stupid."

"I'm glad you think so highly of yourself," he said once he regained her composure from her crude interpretation of what she thought they were doing.

"Look, I'm being logical about it. We both know there's nothing here. It's just…fun. Though I can't say this is my idea of fun."

She turned around to find her shoes, pulling up the strap of her dress. He came up behind her and pulled up the zipper. She stilled and held her breath before walking away to where her shoes were crammed under a nightstand.

He reached for his wallet, "Here's money."

She looked at him in disbelief before laughing. "You're paying me for this, now?"

"For a cab, Rory," he said firmly.

She shook her head, "I can walk; it's not that far."

"You aren't walking home at three in the morning."

"Watch me." She grabbed her clutch and wrap from the floor, grasping his hand quickly before sliding past him.

They finally realized why they never brought up the past.


	3. I Didn't Think I Needed You

A/N: thanks for the reviews! wow, im such a procrastinator. i wrote this instead of studying for my spanish IV and history honors finals that are tomorrow. and now im going to take a bath. oops. hehe okay. so this is a lot of dialogue, sorry. ill have more in depth chapter next, i think. and im done on tuesday with school for two weeks so maybe expect another update soon? enjoy and review.

The New York City was bustling at lunch hour. Really, she thought, as she got a hot dog from a stand, could people need food this bad? Before realizing she was being hypocritical, she pulled her pea coat closer and paid the man. She pushed her purse up on her arm and began walking.

An arm reached out and grabbed her arm, making her drop her hot dog, and pulled her into a back alley with a sound kiss. She was pushed against the wall as two arms held her there.

"Jesus, Logan. What the hell are you doing?"

"You didn't return my calls."

She backed away from him. "We don't call each other. Forgive me for being a bitch, but we really don't do anything, and I thought that this was finished."

"Were those my words or yours, because I don't remember those particular words coming out of my mouth." They hadn't come out of either, but it was all that was left. Better to make a clean break from…whatever the hell they were doing than drag it on forever and have her hurt again.

"Well, then, let me refresh. It's over. We can't do this anymore."

"Rory, I really don't want to stop this." He moved closer to her, his lips hovering over her lips before she moved her head away from his.

"Don't. Someone will see."

"Let them see. If you think that someone actually cares in this city, then you really need a reality check."

"I care, Logan. Contrary to popular belief, I have feelings and I have a reputation to maintain. Was it you I overheard talking to Colin who said that I was a bitter bitch who didn't know how to live? Now I'm just confused."

He sighed. "He was bothering me, asking me all these questions on when I saw you last; I just wanted to shut him up."

"So when someone asks me about you, can I say you're an egotistical asshole you doesn't care about anyone but himself?"

"If that's how you feel."

"It is."

"Okay then."

"Okay then." There was a beat of silence. "Were you following me?"

He looked at her, "No, I was at your office making a business deal and I happened to see you walk out and caught your arm. I have to say, they think you're one hell of an editor. Though personally, not the job I would have pegged you with."

"A business deal? And because you know me so well, right?"

He kissed her again, her hands pressed to his chest, backing her up against the wall. All thoughts of someone seeing them were gone and he trailed down her neck.

She used her palms to push him away. He smirked, fixing her lipstick with his thumb. "Over, huh?"

She nodded, biting her lip. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, "I'm sure I'll see you later today."

She looked at him questionably before he turned away. "Sorry about your lunch," he said, smiling.

--------

He waited for her. He knew it wouldn't take long once she heard the news. Five, four, three, two, one. His office door was slammed open and the manila folder was sliding across his mahogany desk and nearly fell into his lap. He held the coffee cup he had been holding away from his lap to avoid it spilling on him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Huntzberger," Anna, the secretary's voice was high and squeaky. She was probably afraid she was going to lose her job after this. She was trying to cram through the doorway that was already blocked by a very, very angry, not to mention very, very sexy-when-pissed-off Rory Gilmore. He smirked. "I couldn't stop her and she was moving too fast for me to tell her she needs to make an appointment."

"An appointment, my ass," Rory said.

Logan smiled softly. "It's okay, Anna. You can go."

"Thank you."

"What the hell is that?" she demanded, pointing to the folder that was now clogging up his recently cleared desk. A task, so demanding in and of itself with his many piles of paperwork and now she was just going and throwing things around.

He smirked. "Well, Rory, this is me buying your paper."

"It's Ms. Gilmore to you, Mr. Huntzberger. This is strictly professional. Your acquisition of my newspaper should have nothing to do with personal affairs."

"Oh," he said earnestly, standing up, "it doesn't. This is all business. Did you know when I have your paper, I can get almost twice as much revenue? Huntzberger Media can be at its peak of its career yet?"

"And can fall to a tragic death when I kill the owner," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, now you know you don't mean that, Rory. At least, that's not the message I got a few nights ago. By the way, clever use with the word 'affairs'. I guess that's all it is to you."

She scoffed, "As if it's more to you. Well, you can deal with a new editor when the paperwork files. I'll turn in my resignation tomorrow."

"That resignation will be handed to me then. We close the deal in," he looked at his watch and took a sharp breath, "thirty minutes. So, with all technicalities put aside, I will be coming to the paper tomorrow to do some…tweaking."

"Well then, this is my resignation. I'm resigning. Not working there anymore. Need it in any other words?"

"Uh, no," he said uncomfortably. "Just some paperwork, I guess. Just one question. Where will you be going?"

She stood defiant and tilted her chin. "There are some papers around that have been offering. Don't think that you're the only one who knows about me. Just because your asshole of a father told me I didn't have any talent. When really, I've been asked for more than you. I actually recommended your name to someone, and they said they would prefer me. Said I'm more professional. How do you feel about that?"

His jaw twitched. "I think it's good. You're a hell of a writer. I'll be sad to see you go."

"Well, better get a Kleenex and wipe up those tears, because I'm gone. I'll be out of New York by tomorrow night."

"Actually, I have a better deal for you."

"Better idea than getting out of this stupid city, away from you, this insipid job, and going to the west coast? Well, this is going to be good."

"Stay on as a writer," he said plainly. No extravagant language, no additional attempts at persuasion. Her decision swayed slightly. Working, writing, not editing. It was what she wanted.

"I'll double your salary and you can still have some say in the decisions."

"Who would be editor?" she asked quietly.

He came around to pull her to him, "Is that why you did this job? There wasn't anyone else?"

"No," she said, before rolling her eyes. "Yes. I was hired as a writer, the staff writer, and then the editor quit and it was offered and I didn't even stop to think." Tears brimmed in her eyes at the realization of her life. She wasn't doing anything that she wanted. She was unhappy, almost so that it was making her sick.

"It's so stressful. The paper is so small, but has a large reading community. I get ulcers and I'm so tired and I just can't do it anymore. Especially not with you."

"So stay as a writer. You can write and do what you want. Yes, with me, but I promise I'll be fair and good, not ruining your career."

"Who would be editor?" she asked again.

"Me. My dad's coming back. I was just covering for him."

"Oh." She stepped back and she sank onto the couch he had against the back wall of his office. "What happened to him?"

"Heart attack. Mild, but he still needed time off."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Grandpa had one when I was in high school. Scared the crap out of me."

"Yeah, it was bad."

He didn't tell her how he immediately stepped into his place as the heir to Huntzberger Media without a thought. It was what he was to do. Didn't tell her how much he actually liked it, despite the fact it was shoved down his throat.

"You did a good thing," she said, her hand moving with a feather light touch down his cheek, his jawbone, before pressing a light kiss on his lips. She stood up and turned to leave.

"I'll let you know in the morning."


	4. Interlude : One AM

A/N: this is a brief interlude taking place a few hours after last chapter. it was sort of random when i wrote it, so tell me what you think. enjoy and review.

He pushed open her apartment door slowly after turning the brass knob. He didn't hear anything and there was a feeling of blind panic that unconsciously set in, and somewhat against his will. Door unlocked, she wasn't anywhere to be found that he could see, and it was midnight.

She had left his office after their civil – that's as civil as they can be when she's angry – conversation.

He peered around the corner of her apartment, surprised that he had never been there before. Not that he really should have been, they usually keep it to five-star hotels and his penthouse.

Her apartment was neat, cozy, the walls painted with a lush yellow, and white sheer curtains were framing the large windows and balcony. Bookshelves one wall and were filled with books and pictures. A leather couch, large TV, stereo system, everything she needed.

He continued walking through, feeling as though he was trespassing, and honestly, he couldn't say why he had come. He had felt guilty for doing this to her, making her choose. He wanted to make sure she was okay.

There was a closed door halfway down the hallway, a little light shining through underneath. He pushed it open, not really caring if she was dressing or otherwise. It was nothing he hadn't seen before.

What he didn't expect was a bathtub. An old, claw-footed bathtub with her in it, knees pulled up to her chest, resting her chin on them. Her hair was wet and curly around her face, her skin glistening with bathwater, and the room smelled like vanilla.

"Hey," he said, a little displaced at seeing her like this. Gone was the strong, confident, and occasionally harsh business woman, but now she was weaker, run down, almost a completely different person.

"Hi," she said, lifting her head slightly to look at him sideways. He moved slowly to sit cross-legged next to the bathtub, taking one of her wet hands in his, interlacing their fingers.

"You shouldn't be here," she said.

"But I am."

"You are."

"You shouldn't have to leave," he said, remembering the conversation.

She smiled, "I'm not leaving. I'll stay on as a writer."

He smirked, "Thanks, Ace. I know you couldn't stay away from me."

She pulled her hand out of his at the sound of her nickname. "I'm not doing it for you. I love my apartment too much. And I'd be so far away from Mom."

She was silent and he raised their hands, more importantly, her hand, to his lips, pressing them firmly to her skin.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asked, not once bothered by the fact that she was in the bathtub, or that he was holding her hand, something that was a strict no-no in this pseudo relationship they had going on.

"About what?" he was now rubbing circles over the space between her thumb and forefinger, his fingers rough against her delicate skin.

"You know, us. If I hadn't, if you…" she was at a loss for words. How could she describe what happened to them? There were simply no words. Misunderstanding? Distrust?

He came to her rescue. "Yeah, I do."

"I mean," she continued, "We could be…married right now. With little Huntzberger's running around. Or something stupid like that."

His hand traced the line of her jaw. "Is that what you wanted?"

She nodded, her eyes brimmed with tears. She was holding on to his hand with a death grip, her fingers wrapped tightly around his own, like a baby might do. He unclenched his hand from hers, standing and pulling his polo shirt expertly over his head. He followed suit with the rest of his clothes before getting in the bathtub across from her.

He pulled her arms out, making her glide through the water to him, and he pulled her to his chest. A sob broke through the quiet bathroom, bouncing off the walls. The only light was a small light in the shower in the corner of the bathroom, which she had turned on an hour before.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked, his voice muffled by the emptiness of the bathroom and her hair.

She pulled away from him, still in his lap, his arms around her waist. "I-I don't know what I want. At all. From work, from you. Maybe I just want to quit and be a trapeze artist in the circus. And maybe I'll go marry someone named Jed from Belgium or something. I just," she shook her head, biting her lip and forcing tears to not fall, "I don't know anymore."

He smiled, "You don't have to figure it out now."

"But I should have it figured out! I've had it figured out since I was four! And now, I'm just so confused." His hands cupped her face and she sighed in defeat.

"For the sake of clarification," he started, "you are staying as a writer at _my_ paper, right?"

She shot him a look. Did she not just say she might not even want to be what she always thought she did? Maybe not a writer, but someone completely different. He smirked and she let out a small smile, followed by a chuckle.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It was midnight when I got here. Probably around one." She groaned.

"Ugh, work tomorrow. Today."

"Today's Friday. Who really goes to work early on Fridays?"

"Apparently I've been hanging out with the wrong crowd."

He smirked and took her hands as they simultaneously stood up, getting out of the bath. She handed him a towel from a small cabinet, wrapping one around her own body. "Are you staying or going?"

He pressed a hand to the small of her back. "Staying." He let her lead them to her large bedroom, climbing in bed, not even bothering with clothes.

"You know," he said, his arm wrapped around her torso, his chin resting on her shoulder so he could whisper in her ear. "It's not too late for all of that."

"All of what?" she murmured.

"What you want."


	5. I Raise a Glass, Toast In Your Honor

"Rory?" someone asked from behind her as she stood in line at the Starbuck's outside her office Monday morning.

She turned, pulling her knee-length white pea coat across her chest against the cold air that blew in from the open door. "Finn?" She laughed as the tall brunette pulled her into a bear hug. When they separated, she straightened her pencil skirt and smiled up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm just on a little hiatus from Australia, visiting, ah," he paused at what he was going to say next. He didn't know about the little arrangement his best friend and said best friend's ex-girlfriend had established.

Her lips curled, "Colin?" She knew who he was visiting; Logan had told her just last night that Finn was coming to town, hence his inability to meet her tonight.

"Uh, no, actually. Logan."

She played the part perfectly; a facial reaction of blended surprise and pain, only half of which was true. She bit her lip, playing with her hands that were clasped in front of her. "Right. Logan."

"I'm sorry, love," he said, his accent thick, evidence of his recent time in the land down under. "I know it's still rough."

She smiled tightly, turning around when her order was called, picking up her mocha latte from the counter. Finn waved his hand to the barista, signaling that he was picking up both tabs, and pulled her to a back table.

"So, love, how have you been?"

She couldn't help but smile at his ever cheerful attitude. She put a hand on his arm. "Finn, I'm so sorry but I have this meeting this morning that I'm," she looked at the thin watch on her wrist, "almost late for."

She scribbled her number down on a napkin quickly, using a pen she had pulled out of his shirtfront pocket. "Call me later today, and we can plan something. Okay?" she squeezed his arm and reached up on tippy-toes – as well as she could in stilettos – and kissed his cheek.

"This better be your number, Rory Gilmore!" he yelled as she exited the coffee shop to make her way to the meeting discussing the new owner, Logan Huntzberger.

-------

"Okay," Logan stated, concluding the meeting that was being held in the lavish conference room of the newspaper. "I hope that the adjustment to me being here is successful and if you have any questions, you can speak to me or your former editor, Ms. Gilmore."

Rory straightened her papers that were sitting in front of her, in all sorts of disorder after having a pen tapped incessantly on them for the past hour.

"Ms. Gilmore, can I speak to you in my office?" Logan asked, brushing by her and out the door to his own office, complete with an expensive desk and exquisite view.

She rolled her eyes at his behavior and tossed her notes in the manila folder and stood from her chair, straightening her skirt and following him out.

He closed the door behind her when she entered his office, and she sat on the armrest of one of his plush armchairs, legs crossed in front of her.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Was I boring you in there?" he responded, having noticed her distracted behavior and lack of focus during the staff meeting. An important meeting, no question, as it was the first one with him as the owner and new editor of the newspaper.

"No," she responded quickly, "I was fine. Too much coffee this morning."

He looked at her quizzically. "That's not a usual problem for you. You can pack down six cups easily with no problems."

She stood, "Look, Logan, no offense, but it's not much of your business how I am. Only if it affects my quality of writing or integrity of my work, does it become your business. Since I fail to see how either of these qualify, I think you should just let it go."

"Rory," he said, concerned at her disposition to him.

"I ran into Finn," she said loudly, overriding anything he might have tried to say next.

Logan looked at his watch. "Already? His flight isn't supposed to be in until noon."

"I don't know; I didn't ask for a break down on his journey home," she snapped.

"Why are you so upset by this? I told you last night that he would be back in the country."

"I know, Logan , I know, it's just a little unnerving to see your friends from college who are scared to mention your name around me because they think I'll drop to a puddle of tears because they don't know that I actually do talk to you on a daily basis."

"So you want me to tell my friends that hey, guys, I'm sleeping with Gilmore, but don't worry, I can still go pick up a few girls from the bar?"

She shook her head at his cruel and twisted way of articulating their relationship, so different from the way he had treated her just a few days ago. The way he held her, calmed her. When he did that, she felt safe, she was safe. But this, she felt exposed, right in the face of danger, deer in the headlights.

"What, Rory?" She remained silent. "Well, I'm glad that you can put up an argument for your own problems."

She jerked open his office door, "Yeah, I bet you are," she replied harshly, slamming the door behind her.

The writers and workers in their cubicles stared in shock. They hadn't even been there an hour yet that day and there was already an argument between the old and new. This would be an interesting adjustment, indeed, though probably not as smooth as the Huntzberger may have liked.

--------

She went into her own smaller office, as former editor and head writer, and ran her hands through her hair. So much for a stress free job.

She jumped as her phone rang. She searched for it under a mess of papers and flipped it open quickly. "Hello?"

"Hey, doll," Finn said charmingly.

"That took long. It's been what, an hour?"

"What can I say? You're very miss-able."

She gave a small laugh, "I'm sure I am. What did you have in mind for plans?"

"How about dinner tonight, love? It'll be fun. Colin just arrived in town, too, for an overnight layover before he leaves tomorrow morning for Singapore."

"Oh, I don't want to be in the way," she protested.

"Nonsense," he reassured her. "I'll send a car to your apartment for you at seven."

She gave him her address, not even thinking to ask if Logan would be there. For some odd reason, she believed that he wouldn't be. She didn't know exactly how wrong she would be.

She hung up and leaned back in her chair, deciding to maybe actually get some work done, though with that morning's argument still in her head, it proved to be a futile attempt.

-----------

She left the office around five, skillfully avoiding Logan on her way out, walking quickly past his door to the elevators.

At home, she quickly changed into a nicer dress and heels, pinning up her hair and fixing her makeup, smudged from a long day at work. She was just putting the finishing touches on her lips when her bell rang.

She walked out to the small black sedan, Finn standing outside of it. He whistled at her, a stunning vision in a red strapless dress, falling to her knees, and black heels. She blushed and hit his shoulder as he helped her in the car.

"We're meeting Colin and…at the restaurant," he said, catching himself before he finished what he was originally saying, which would ensure to piss her off. If he remembered anything about Rory Gilmore, it was that she had a quick, fiery temper.

But she didn't notice. Which was weird; she noticed everything. From the color of the car, to the street name, she would always be noticing anything. But not tonight. She was distracted tonight.

"Okay," she said, not remembering what he had just said. Were they picking up Colin, too, or meeting him at the restaurant, she wondered idly.

It was Logan. Goddamn him and his need to be plaguing her thoughts every second of every hour of every day. Every day of the week. It wasn't supposed to be this complicated, but the way he described how he saw their relationship – or lack thereof – hurt, though she would never admit it.

They reached the restaurant, an upscale, elite Italian place, and Finn helped her out of the car. When the entered, they were immediately seated at a large round table set for four, two of which seats were already filled.

Her mouth dropped open from shock. One from seeing Logan; second from seeing Colin, whom she hadn't seen since he was a senior, she a junior, at Yale.

"Reporter Girl," he said, standing and pulling her into a hug, being the first to speak. She glanced at Logan and saw him wince out of the mere idea of someone of the male species touching her. She rolled her eyes, but smiled as Colin pulled away. "Hey, Colin, good to know you haven't changed."

"You either. You look beautiful, as per usual."

She laughed, "Thanks." She nodded towards Logan, mumbling his name in acknowledgement as he did the same. Finn pulled out her chair for her, and she sat gracefully, though, right next to Logan.

"Uh, Finn," she murmured in his ear, as he turned to move to his own chair. "I thought you said it was just Colin joining us."

He smirked, "I guess Colin called him."

Her mouth dropped open once again. "You are such an ass, Finn Morgan!" she said, teasingly, though in a way, seriously. He planned this.

"Sorry to ruin the evening," Logan said, overhearing their conversation, "I didn't realize this was a party for three."

She shrugged, not bothering to correct him, before interrogating Colin about his work, and his marriage to Steph, a longtime friend of hers.

Logan watched, part in amusement, part in pain, as he saw how easily she blended with his friends. She was one of them, whether she accepted it or not, if not better than them. She didn't lose her head for money, or power or beauty, not that she needed any of it. And why would she spend her nights with him? Men should be breaking down her door to be able to merely see her, let alone date her.

Why she was alone, or chose to be even close to being alone, was beyond him.

She laughed loudly at a story that Finn was regaling her and Colin with; something about him and snorkeling in Australia. Logan leaned in towards the table to listen, instinctively towards her, wrapping his arm around the back of her chair, his fingers grazing her bare shoulder.

Her face turned and she smiled at him, leaning to his touch. How quickly her demeanor could change, from being so angry to being indifferent to being almost desperate for his hands on any part of her body.

Colin and Finn smirked at each other. So they hadn't changed at all since college.

It was only the beginning of an interesting evening.


	6. See the World Like Lovers Do

(see the world like lovers do)

"That was amazing," Rory said, pushing the now empty china plate away from her. Her meal of fettuccine alfredo had been delicious, and she looked up as Finn and Colin were looking at her in shock, Logan sitting there as if her eating a huge, larger than large platter of food was an everyday occurrence, which in his life, it was.

"I can't believe you ate that whole thing," Colin said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I can," Logan mumbled, earning a smack from Rory.

"Along with a whole plate of appetizers, part of Logan's lemon chicken, and three rolls from the basket," Finn added.

She disregarded their comments with a wave of her hand before straightening in her seat excitedly. "What's for dessert?"

They looked on in awe as Rory laid the desert menu on the table in front of her, her hands clasped on the front. "Boys," she began seriously, "if we are going to spend any time together, you need to appreciate my full appetite and not look at me like I grew three heads while I eat."

"They just don't understand girls," Logan whispered playfully in her ear.

"It's so cute," she cooed back. "They're just so," she searched for the word, "inexperienced."

Finn had a face of pure offense and Colin's jaw dropped further, if possible. "Now, wait one minute. We are not inexperienced. Logan, tell your girl here that we are not inexperienced. She should know; she hung out with us in college."

She raised an eyebrow, "Maybe I should have a chat with Steph."

"Oh, tell him about Fiji. You know that story I told you?" Logan said, his shoulder pressed against hers, their thighs touching underneath the table. If one would happen to look at the table, they wouldn't see four college friends catching up post-graduation. No, they would see a completely, head-over-heels in love couple, meeting with two good friends for a reunion dinner.

"Okay," Colin intervened. "You two need to stop working in cahoots together. It will be the end of Finn and the demise of my perfect marriage. Stop."

"Aw, hear that, Logan? We're ruining his perfect marriage." Logan smirked, picking up his glass of scotch the waiter had brought after the meal and dropped his other arm to spread across her back, resting on her hip, fingers spread wide to span as much as possible. She leaned instinctively, fitting perfectly into his shoulder.

"We're just so talented," he said, his dark eyes locking on her cerulean ones from where she was looking at him.

A young college waiter cleared his throat as he tried to place a large plate of cheesecake in front of Rory, who was now talking quietly with Logan. Finn and Colin once again just looked at each other, this time rolling their eyes, before telling the waiter they would take care of it, but to just leave it there.

Colin cleared his throat, but the two remained oblivious. He turned to Finn. "I feel like we're just on their date."

"Mate, people are going to think we're a gay couple."

Colin rolled his eyes, "I have a wedding ring on."

"Fine, an engaged gay couple. You're the bride." Finn smirked and Colin smacked him upside the head. The two's antics caught Rory's attention and her eyes narrowed as they slid over to the two boys, but changed to a smile when she saw her dessert sitting in front of Finn.

"Oh, cheesecake!"

Logan flagged down a waiter for more drinks, asking Rory if she wanted anything to drink.

"White wine for the lady," Finn said.

Logan smirked, "Actually, the lady doesn't drink white wine. Red wine, please."

"Well, you're the one dating her, not me," Finn said, his hands up in defense.

Rory stopped her fork mid-air, mouth open, at Finn's words. She looked at Logan before attempting to formulate her response. "Oh, no, we're not, no," was all she managed.

"What our dear friend Rory is trying to say here is that we aren't dating; we're coworkers, right, Ror?" Logan covered, leaving the sordid details of their more than fucked up relationship out of the table talk, for the sake of all fours' sanities.

"Uh," she struggled, but was saved by the waiter bringing her a wine glass, which she gladly accepted. She lifted to the glass to her lips after toasting the men at the table and drank nearly all of it. This is what she would need to get through the rest of the evening. Lots and lots of alcohol.

Her complexion slightly flushed from her excessive alcohol, she tried to listen as best as possible to the story Colin was telling about his and Steph's honeymoon. There were two problems to this task. One, the drinks she had had before, during and after dinner were all hitting her at once, full force. Two, Logan's hand was meandering up her thigh, drawing circles with a forefinger and teasing with a ring finger. Add that to the drinks and her concentration and ability to focus was more than wavering.

Colin finished his story and Rory laughed at the ending, grabbing Logan's hand tightly before shoving it back into his lap, away from her. He merely smirked and continued his never-ending mission of royally pissing her off.

"So," Colin began, taking a sip of water, "how did you two meet up again? Last I checked, you two weren't on very civil terms."

"Oh," she started, looking at Logan carefully to gauge his response, "you know how easy it is to meet up with old friends in this city." She gave a small smile to go with her ridiculous response, avoiding the last part of Colin's question.

"Love, there's eight million people in this city," Finn said.

"Right," she confirmed, picking up her wine glass and frowning when she noticed it was empty.

Logan, however, had been holding his scotch glass carefully, his eyes glued to it in thought. "You know," he finally said, "its funny how it worked, actually."

"Logan," she said warningly.

"You see, we met at this newspaper gala. She, of course, looked gorgeous, as always. And we ended up in my bed at my apartment."

"Oh my God," Rory said, ducking her head and shielding her eyes with her hand.

"And that's what we've been doing ever since. Some quick sex here and there-"

"Logan," she cut him off. "Stop."

"And then," he continued, "My father wanted to buy her newspaper, so now, because it's not bad enough, we have to work together."

She scoffed, "I offered, practically begged, for you to let me go! And where do you come off? I mean, seriously, when will this little dance end? You knew I worked there, and now, suddenly, being around me is a big chore!"

Finn fiddled with his napkin and Colin regretted bringing it up. Logan's lips were pursed and she was twirling a finger along the rim of her glass. An awkward silence settled among the four.

"I would have let you go!" he continued.

"You asked me not to go!"

"You wanted to get married and have kids!" Her eyes widened and filled with tears, and Colin and Finn stared at Logan in shock.

"Yeah, well, what did I know? I was twenty, and I actually believed you loved me." She gave a bitter laugh. "Believe me, I know so much better now. You're nothing more than business. Instead of heart, there's a bank account; instead of a brain, daddy's newspaper."

She threw down her napkin, standing up. "Thanks for inviting me, Finn. Really, it's been fun. He's your problem now."

She pulled on her coat and weaved quickly through the many tables of the crowded restaurant. She pushed through the revolving door and walked outside to the New York street.

Her arm was pulled back quickly, and there he was, staring directly at her. "You-you arrogant bastard! I told you that in confidence, when I was under emotional duress, and you use it against me? In front of your friends, no less!"

"Rory," he tried to calm her, though she saw it as him merely placating her.

"No, as far as I'm concerned, whatever this fucking thing is between us is over. Finally." She laughed in spite of it all. "You will not call me, come over, try to take me out, meet me anywhere. You will only call me Ms. Gilmore because the only time you will talk to me is at work. This whole thing is over, and as far as I'm concerned, if I never see you again, that would be fine."

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and quickly flagged down a cab. She climbed inside, gave the driver her directions, and pulled away from the curb and towards her apartment without a glace back.

Logan watched her go, his arms folded above his head. She was too far gone from him now. He walked back into the restaurant where Colin and Finn were waiting, sitting down quietly.

"That was Rory," he said, his hand gesturing to the door and the street outside.

"Mate, are you okay?"

"I didn't mean to say it. Even now, I don't know why I said it."

"Should I go talk to her?" Finn asked.

"She's gone. No, all I want it alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol."


	7. I Don't Recall a Single Care

A/N: thanks for the reviews and sorry for the wait. this goes in fast motion through the next few months, so pay attention. :-) and i realize some of it may be sudden but i think it maybe helps the rest of the story? i dont know, tell me what you think. any questions, confusions, comments? review or PM me, i love hearing from everyone. enjoy and review.

(I don't recall a single care)

She stayed true to her word. He knew this now, when she said something, she meant it. Not as if it was ever in question, though.

He once thought that she had this amazing gift of transforming herself, and that was true. She was able to go from being his best friend, semi-girlfriend, confidant – that part which he had screwed up magnificently – and now, she played the part of a perfect stranger. She only talked to him when necessary at the newspaper, and even then, it was clipped, sharp.

That winter, her mood reflected the weather. She was cold, distant, mostly to him. After all this time, he could finally admit that it would have been healthier for her to have left the city, but still, the thought of not even being able to see her every day was daunting.

On the weekends, he would find himself wandering through their old hangouts and he'd simply be nostalgic, as sappy as that may sound. They weren't even dating and still, whenever he passed the old bookstore she dragged him too late in the afternoon the day after one of their parties where he stayed too late, he still felt that pang. He could see them in the window, her reaching up on tippy-toes to reach a book, he standing behind her, his hands on her hips, his fingers grazing the bare skin her shirt revealed.

He shook his head as he sat at the office. It was ridiculous. Finn and Colin keep telling him that it'll be fine, give her time, but he knew better.

He knew her better than they did.

-------------

He couldn't believe that four months had passed since he had last had a decent conversation with her. Since he had even held her hand, touched her shoulder, anything. Well, that was excluding the one incident that happened just a week before Christmas.

_"Mr. Huntzberger," she said stiffly, knocking on his office door and sliding through the partial opening. _

_"Ror-Ms. Gilmore, what is it?" _

_She looked down at the stack of papers in her hands and flipped through them absent-mindedly. "Pam from Entertainment and Tony from Sports all have their stuff to give you, editing completed, and I have the headlines portion completed with the articles." _

_She tossed the manila folder on her desk and he stood to walk around to pick it up to look through them properly. She turned on her heel and walked out the door, but not without him calling her back. _

_"Ro-Ms. Gilmore." Clearly he was having a problem with the name thing. She spun slowly back around and stood in his doorway, leaning on the doorjamb. _

_"What?" She twisted her hands clasped in front of her, before changing motions to fix her pencil shirt, then to straighten her fitting blouse, concluding with her hair. _

_"I, uh, heard about Emily." Her face remained stoic and emotionless. "Your grandmother." _

_He walked to her, placing his hand on her arm, "I'm sorry."_

_She backed away reflexively. "Don't. You aren't my boyfriend; you aren't anybody, so just don't. Don't apologize; in fact, just don't do anything. You think a boy with a Yale education would be able to understand what I've been telling you. So just please, stop." _

And Emily, that was an entirely different story. He had picked up the news from some social dinner his parents had managed to get him to join. He had overheard to ladies at the bar.

_"I haven't seen the Gilmores; you know they would have been here." _

_"Oh, Mel, haven't you heard? Richard and their young daughter – you know, that one who had the baby who _(an'ended up God-knows-where' was added under the woman's breath)_ at sixteen, surely you remember her – yes, well, they've been at Emily's bedside day and night. They said it was cancer." _

When he had confronted her originally, it was a futile mission. She ignored him completely, and then simply stopped acknowledging him altogether. It was from his mother, ironically enough, that he found out this wasn't a new discovery. She had been sick for two months or so, which led his thoughts to the night in the bathtub. Was she regretting putting her personal life aside for so long now that she realized that no, she wasn't invincible?

April came, and when she showed up in his office, face a mess, hair slightly tangled, her outfit, though stylish, could be considered thrown haphazardly together.

"Hi," she began, not moving more than a foot into his office. "I don't think I've ever done this, and it's just perfect that I have to ask you for this, but I guess that's just my luck, right?" His eyebrows raised and he shook his head in misunderstanding.

"Sorry, I'm rambling. I need a few days off. Actually, I think two weeks-ish."

"Ish?"

"Yeah, I'm not quite sure, actually, how long I would be gone. But I think that's a safe amount to ask off."

"Rory, what's going on?"

She bit her lip to keep from crying. "Don't, please, just don't ask. Just give me permission to leave for a few weeks and I'll do all the work you want when I get back, I just really need the time off, please."

He sat back in his office chair, nodding. "Yeah, sure. You know I would have said yes."

She didn't respond, just nodded and closed the door behind her.

He got the call that afternoon. Emily Gilmore had passed away peacefully in her sleep. He was asked to attend the funeral in Hartford in two days.

------------

He walked into the mansion filled with people dressed in black, though he was only looking for one.

"Logan," he heard Lorelai's voice behind him. Rory must not have told her mother about their tentative relationship, let alone the foundations of it, or else he knew she wouldn't be talking to him right now.

"Ms. Gilmore, I'm so sorry," he pulled her into a small hug and she gave a watery-eyed smile.

She looked uncomfortable so he switched topics. "Have you, uh, seen Rory?"

Her eyes shot downcast. "She's not taking this too well. I mean, who would, but the last person who died in her life…" she trailed off. "She's in the library, just over there."

He moved through the crowd to the door on the side, and pushed it open slowly. He saw her sitting in an armchair, facing a window which was facing the front driveway. Her hair was curled, un-brushed or styled, most likely, he thought; that's when it was the curliest. Her black dress was in contrast with the red fabric of the chair and he heard only one small sniffle.

"Hey," he said softly, announcing his presence. She had fallen from her pedestal, he noticed now. The once perfect façade she had mastered to a tee was now a mere memory of who she once had been. This, this broken girl sitting before him, her legs tucked underneath her as a five year old might, was not who he had known.

She didn't answer, though her eyes darted quickly to him before placing her gaze on the window, and she carefully pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Could it have been that long since she had actually seen him? Not just had her eyes randomly cross his path, but really look at him. His perfectly pressed black suit, his top shirt button undone to show his lack of tie and his mussed hair.

He moved closer with a tentative step. He kept moving until he was standing directly next to the armchair she was sitting in. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, something she knew he would do before he had moved, his hand curving around the angle of her shoulder.

She looked up at him then, her eyes brimmed with tears, one falling on her lap where her hands were folded. He pulled her up and against him, her cheek falling on his shoulder as he enveloped her in his embrace.

She could see this a thousand times in her head, him pulling her toward her, not fast enough, because she would back out of his hold, away from him, not letting anyone carry the burden for her, but only on her shoulders alone.

Letting go, if only for a moment, was freeing, liberating for her and her heavy heart. Letting him take the wheel for a little while, no matter how fleeting the time was, was good, rejuvenating for her. She finally let him hold her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered against her hair. His words held so much depth, so many meanings. For what he said, her grandmother's passing, how shitty the last few months have been, how unhappily spring must have come into her life, the idea of new life and blooming coming to a screeching halt with the death of her most beloved relative.

She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "The funeral is starting soon; we should all get to the church."

Sorry for how she chooses to push him away, shut him out right at the moment when he thinks he might be able to hold on to her, for never being able to carry the weight for her, for doing this to her at all, because he knew that a lot of this should be on his shoulders.

This new Rory was his doing. His fault.


	8. You Don't Care How This Affair Breaks Me

(You Don't Care How This Affair Breaks Me)

She tapped her pen idly on the mouse pad next to her computer monitor on the desk. She needed a word and she couldn't even begin to process what she had written. It was past midnight and she was past her point of being able to work properly, but somehow, it wasn't registering in her mind.

She looked up when she heard a voice from the doorway. "You ever going to look at me again?"

She glanced up quickly to see him, though she recognized his voice – hell, she recognized his presence – immediately. "I haven't decided."

He was right. It had been nearly a month since the funeral incident when she let him hold this tattered, broken fragment of herself. Almost like a porcelain doll that had been broken. She had long ago figured out that he couldn't fix her and to give him the pieces would only leave her devastated.

The service had gone flawlessly; Emily would have been pleased. Elated, even. Except that now it didn't matter. Richard was poring himself into his work, as expected, and Rory, well, she was hanging by a thread. Her sanity, her motivation, everything, were all wearing thin. And Logan, as usual, was the first to notice.

So now she sat at her desk, trying desperately to finish one article that should have been turned in hours ago.

"It's okay to miss her, you know," he said, as if spewing wise words from his mouth that would somehow reach the heavens and make a remarkable breakthrough throughout the world. He sat on the edge of the small couch situated in her office, his shirt sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned at the top, tie gone.

"Look, no offense, Logan," she said, her voice crisp and business-like, "You have no idea what loss is so I really don't think that you're the one I want advice from. Or anything from, for that matter."

"Hey, advice, body, anything. I'm yours," he said jokingly, a small smirk playing on his lips. She thought it less than amusing.

"Please leave," she said forcefully, her eyes not leaving the screen.

"No. This is my company, and if I feel my workers aren't doing their best than so be it. And I have the power to tell you and do something about it."

She pushed back from the desk and stood quickly, as he followed suit, and they stood even. Or, would have, if he hadn't been taller than her and stood a few inches above her.

"And how do you plan to do something about it?"

"I'm asking you to take a break from this. Sort out whatever you need to. Take a week or two off and just come back refreshed and ready to go."

She laughed weakly. "You're seriously deranged, you know that? It's not something that I can just come back refreshed from," she said tauntingly, using air quotes. "She's gone, Logan. And you, you just come as if I can't stand without you and prove to me that as always, you're stronger than me. And that, no, I can't live without you and even now, you're screwing up! So if I choose to work late, and if I choose to not look at you as you make fun of me and leave with a smile, than I will damn well do that!"

His face became somber in the middle of her rant. "I don't want you to do that. It's not you."

"Who knows who that is anymore."

She picked up her bag from the floor by the door and walked out, leaving her computer on, everything open as he read the title of the article, the article that was her resignation note to the readers of the paper.

------------

He knocked on her door frantically. Almost after he had read the first sentence, which was comprised of her most sincerest apologies to her devoted readers and to the paper itself, he was out the building.

"What?" she exclaimed, pulling open the door. She was in a short silk nightgown and a matching robe that fell to her mid-thigh. Her hair was curly; she had just showered. Her face looked haggard, and it shocked him that he had just seen her in a different state not twenty minutes ago.

"You're resigning?" he spluttered, unable to form anything else until his suspicions were correct.

"I am," she said quietly. She sighed and pulled the door open farther, allowing him to come again. He looked at her quizzically. "You really want to have this conversation in the hallway. It's nearly one AM; you'll wake the whole damn building."

He hesitantly entered her lowly lit apartment, some music playing from her bedroom.

"You can't leave," he managed.

"I can, and I am." He looked up at her. "Look, Logan, we both knew this would happen eventually. I'm not emotionally equipped for anything and your family ties won't let you wander far from anything but trophy wife material. It was…what it was while it lasted, but now…" she trailed off. "Things change," she said with an air of finality to her voice.

"So that's it? A recycled explanation of 'things change' and you pack up and leave? You think that no one knows who you are, that I don't know who you are. You think you've changed since the funeral. And if you have, it's been done by me and what I've put you through. And I know who this person is."

That night at the restaurant, when I said that you were the one who wanted to get married and have kids, I didn't mention that that was what I wanted. That the reason I found you again was because we aren't done, we won't be done. Not if you leave now, not if you ever leave."

"Logan," she pleaded, large tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, rimming them red and threatening to fall.

"No, I've never said any of this before. And I'm not saying it to placate you or to make you stay. I'm saying it because it's time. For me to tell you all of this. That I know I've messed up, and I should have made this exclusive the first night we met again, but no matter what you tell me, we'll always find a way back to each other. Even if you're married to someone else, and have kids with someone else, there will be no one who knows you like me. And who knows me like you."

Her arms were crossed protectively in front of her chest, her foot dragging circle in the carpet, her eyes following her own movements as she avoided looking him in the eyes. What he was saying was all true, she maybe knew, but the fact that she didn't want to face it, she was still under emotional duress…the list could go on forever.

"So I know who are, is what I'm trying to say. When you asked me who even knew who you were anymore. I do. You're Rory. You love coffee and a good book. You like staying in bed on Sundays and just listening to everything outside. And you like staying inside on rainy days so you can listen to the rain. You love old bookstores and your family and me. You ramble, and not many people understand you, but I do. You make lists compulsively, which I have learned to stop making fun of, and you can fit perfectly in my arms. So this, this grief and part of your life with the pain of your grandmother's death, it'll fade. Not completely, but it will fade. And when you're ready, I'll be here. I'll be here now, if you need me to just sit here with you. And I'll be here forever. But…that's my speech." It was his turn to trail off after he went off like that.

She stayed quiet, biting her lip. He went up to her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms, his hands gliding easily over the silk. He pushed hair back from her face and she looked up at him.

"Just tell me what you need," he told her quietly.


	9. I Bet You’re Sweet and Hard to Get Over

(I bet you're sweet and hard to get over)

"Mate, it's been nearly two weeks," Finn said on the phone to Logan. "That's much too long to be moping over your woman."

"Finn, I should tell you that you are the worst person in the world to make me feel better. So please stop trying. And I'm not moping. What were her words? Oh yes, she wants to go slow. She's not leaving, but she took time off. And she wanted me to leave her be for a little bit. So I'm waiting."

And that's what she told him, as he held her arms and his fingers grazed her jawbone with a feather light touch that made her nearly crumble inside with his sensitivity and concern for her. She had placed her cold – freezing cold, one of the things he remembers from that night, why were her hands so goddamn cold – hands on either side of his face and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. She had watched him go, and when she heard the definite click of her door close, she went to her balcony. She leaned against the ledge and watched him walk down the ever-busy New York street. His shoulders slumped, almost defeated, even after his long battle and his epic speech of his never ending love for her.

It was a scene that someone may have played on the Lifetime movie network. Her leaning against a balcony, the soft breeze playing with both the hem of her robe and her curly locks as his retreating figured walked down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his suit pants pockets. If he had only seen her, he would have known the depths of her love for him. If only she had maybe stood up to him, maybe told him that no, she actually couldn't live without him, and though she had pseudo-resigned, she really didn't see herself anywhere except with him.

But she hadn't. And she didn't know what had stopped her. Even now, as she sat on her couch in her apartment, Colin leaning on a coffee table in front of her, trying to coerce any scrap of information from her, she didn't know.

She shook her head numbly and at this point and time in her crisis, she didn't know if she was grieving over her grandmother or the boy that had long ago taken her heart and she still hasn't been able to find. Except for when he holds in his outstretched hand for her to take. But even then, she merely let it go.

What was she doing? She should be with him. After all of this, everything that had happened, they should be together. Even if they were just friends. They should be talking, hanging out, eating out every once and a while together. Not this estranged lovers sort of thing they've mastered over the past year. She told him to go slow – something they had never practiced, let alone believed in? After all they had been through, after their endless battles of push and shove, the hesitant pauses suspended in the air between insults and arguments, the soft trail of his fingertip along her shoulder blade; she should have been flying into his arms with love and adoration, with fiery, passionate kisses that would leave even him, playboy extraordinaire, speechless.

And thus, her pleas and endless begging to go slow were hastily thrown out the window as she jumped into a cab in the middle of the street to get to his apartment as soon as possible. She didn't bother to change from her tattered Yale long-sleeved shirt or jeans, hastily slid-into flip flops, and almost forgot to grab her purse so she could pay the cab driver. Oh, and she left Colin sitting on her coffee table, confused as hell as to what his best friend and said friend's seemingly-psychotic girlfriend (Colin's eyebrows scrunched together in thought, what were they even?) were going to do both with or without each other.

Meanwhile, across the city, Rory stumbled out of the cab and all but charged into penthouse building that Logan resided in. She pushed the elevator button impatiently, her fingers slapping against the plastic contraption, annoyed, urging it futilely to move faster. The same once she actually got into the elevator. The balls of her feet her bouncing, her hair was frazzled, her face was flushed. She was a mess.

But that was the thing, like Harry said to Sally in that fateful movie her mom made her watch every time she returned home, "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." And thus, that was all she thought about the whole elevator ride up to the top floor.

When he answered the door, her incessant pounding stopped, but she was happy to say the same didn't go for her heartbeat. It flew out of her chest, and garbled with the rest of her system. "Forever somebody life possible spend," was what came out of her mouth.

Logan's eyebrows narrowed. "Are you drunk?"

She took a deep breath to calm down. "No! It's from When Harry Met Sally!" She waved her hands impatiently for emphasis. "I made you watch it that one time!" She could have sworn she said something intelligible when he opened the door.

"Right, but I don't remember that exact phrasing. Maybe something a little more…coherent. But not what you just said," he finished with a smirk.

She was breathing heavily now, in a kind of stupor some might call a panic attack. While Logan's face paled at the sight of her shallow breathing, she held out a hand to tell him to wait. "I love you," she breathed. "And I don't want to go slow. I lied. I just want to be with you. Because if my grandmother dying has showed me anything, it's that time can stop for anyone at anytime and that I should hold on to what I have. And what I have is you. Well, if you'll still be with me, that is." She gave a small smile of encouragement, her bottom teeth worrying her lip.

He gave her a little time to catch her breath and smirked, catching her as she launched herself into his arms, her legs wrapping lithely around his narrow waist as she caught his lips with hers. She smiled against his lips and he rolled his eyes, pulling away at her pregnant pause in their lip lock.

"What?" he asked exasperated.

"Do you really remember watching When Harry Met Sally?" she asked a dopey grin on her face.

He shook his head, balancing her weight against the door to his penthouse, which he had managed to maneuver closed before they got too heady and did something rash in the middle of the hallway.

She laughed as she pressed her lips tentatively against his, gauging his reaction. Was he really happy about this long-awaited revelation or was he exhausted from this game? Did he think he was rebound, or maybe just something to make her feel better in the midst of her grief? She new deep down he could never be either, but rather, the reason she would need either. Her arms twined delicately around his neck, grateful for his warmth, his security, his safety. The feelings he evoked from her were reason enough to be with him.

Her head fell back against the wooden door as his lips fell from her own and skimmed down the line of her throat. Her hands moved to his hair, sliding through the baby soft threads carefully, finding their place at the nape of his neck as she smoothed down the small hairs she found. "What?" she whispered, dragging her lips to his ears, sensing his tension.

"Honestly?" he asked, continuing when she pulled back from him to see his face. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know you mean it and I know that I want this, and I can see that you do too, but it seems surreal. Like maybe this shouldn't be happening."

She smiled sadly, nodding, "I know. I can't believe what an idiot I've been." He moved them carefully from the door to the recliner in his living room, setting them both down in the same position they were against the door; her straddling his lap and he with his arms wrapped firmly around her tiny waist.

"You had to know it would come to this," he admonished. "We're too good together," he added cockily.

"Well, thank God I had you there to remind me," she said, rolling her eyes.

"No problem, babe. But I'm being serious, I need to know you want this. For real, not halfway, not three-quarters, but the whole shebang. You and me, forever, or as long as we make it." His eyes met hers and she smiled a teary smile before nodding.

She kissed him firmly, "I want this. You bet your ass I do. You'll just have to put up with me for the next countless years."

"Well, we both know how we do with the alternative of not being together."

His lips found hers again and his lips wandered down her jaw line as her eyes widened. "Oh my God, what will we tell Colin and Finn?"

He smirked, "I doubt they'll be surprised."

At the end of the night, after they had secured the deal many times over, he reached for her under the thin sheet and wrapped his arm securely around her waist, twining his hand with hers just so.

In his familiar, king sized bed they were more than lovers, but soulmates; more than just coworkers, but partners; more than just best friends, but the other half. They made each other's lives more than just mere existence, but life full of funny moments, lingering touches and heated arguments with hours of make-up afterwards. They defined their relationship by these things, and these things defined their relationship.

If this was love, each would happily take it.

FIN.

**A/N: Wow, its been a long time coming. I'm sorry for the wait - there's no excuse. I hope you enjoyed the cheesy and cliche and totally fluffy ending. :) i know i did. Anyways, thanks for hanging in there. I appreciate it more than you know. as always, enjoy and review. **


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